Musical Inspiration for this chapter: The Partisan (Wolfenstien: The Old Blood)
Chapter 34: To Wish for Simplicity
Silver tried to ignore the shuddering deck and the loud voices in the corridor adjacent to his room. He really did try, just like Miss Spaniel told him. The wolf pup clenched his sheets tighter and drew them up to his chest, his ears tucked tightly to his skull to ward off the noise seeping in from the outside hallway.
But it was too hard, he couldn't do it.
The lupine shook his muzzle and made a serious face, hoping that if he appeared confident on the outside, some of that might leak back into him. "I have to be brave… for Mom." He muttered quietly to himself as his bed was jostled by something striking the hull.
"Hey, it's alright Silver."
Miss Spaniel's voice soothed him like a warm blanket, and the pup looked up from his idle stare into the dark blue covers. He was awed by how calmly she sat at his desk, thumbing through a fashion magazine, her browsing put on temporary suspension as she looked to him with a soft smile and motherly concern.
"Everything's going to be just fine. We're gonna kick these guys right in their butts and send them packing!" The snowy canine declared with a smile of such confidence, he could not help but believe her.
Silver was thankful that the captain had cared enough to pull him aside before the battle started, personally leading him back to his room before offering a hug and informing him that Miss Spaniel would be spending the duration with him. Gods forbid, if anything went wrong she would see him somewhere safe.
Mr. Mccloud really was a nice person, everyone here on the ship was, even the new people.
He didn't have much in the way of schooling, but he was smart enough to recognize irony when he saw it. Who would have thought that attempting to rob such a strange trio would so positively end up in his favor? All the same he vowed never again to lower himself to such a horrible thing. After all, what would Mom think of him then?
"Hey little guy, you doing alright?" A reassuring arm wrapped around his side and pulled him close, Miss Spaniel having shifted to sit in the bed beside him.
The young pup smiled up at her, able to offer a stiff nod of assurance.
He wasn't worried about himself, not anymore. But his mother, he paused, a pang of fear for her lingering deep within his heart. She had told him that she would fight, that she had to find Mr. Six. He didn't like that, but he didn't like the idea of Mr. Six being lost any more. They were good for each other, he didn't need to be an adult to see that.
Silver had noticed, even in their short time together, that Mr. Six rarely smiled for anyone or anything. The towering, and often times scary giant of a male didn't seem all that much like a friendly person to him. He was gruff, emphatically direct, and clearly unaccustomed with the concept of attachment… or at least he acted that way towards everyone but his mother. When the male had been around her, he always smiled. It was often small and nearly unnoticeable, but she was the only one that could make him happy simply by sharing the same room. His voice when he spoke with her was different also, softer and inflected with the faintest tinge of sincere affection.
He really did care about her.
And while the pup had only seen him a handful of times, the many stories his mother shared with him about the male, made it seem like he had known Mr. Six all his life. Silver was always struck in wondrous fascination at the vibrancy and bliss she radiated whenever she brought him up in conversation.
He clearly was not the only one to return that sentiment.
"Do you think Mr. Six is okay?" He asked, looking up to Miss Spaniel's ponderous visage. Her magazine, now unattended, laid face open across the sheets, the images of current cornerian style forgotten as she comforted the young pup.
The female dog nodded slowly, brushing a powder soft paw through his mane of wild fur. "I've known him for a long time, Silver. He isn't the kind of person to go down easy, I'll tell you that much."
She chuckled softly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I'm not quite sure there's anything in the universe that can hurt him."
Silver did remember the stories his mother told him, of the miraculous deeds he who called himself spartan, accomplished. The wolf was reminded of the comic book superheroes he liked to read about when he had the chance, kinda like The Amazing Wolverine, except twice as irritable.
"As for your mother," the canine continued on with another laugh. "I've met komodo dragons with less bite. She can take of herself. In fact I'm betting on that she's blasting her way down to the planet right now to find him, with or without orders."
She pulled the adolescent lupine closer into the warmth of her embrace. "You'll be alright Silver. We'll all be alright. Starfox is a family, and we take care of each other. Don't you worry about the fight, you just worry about what surprise you'll have ready for your mother when she gets back. I think she'd love that."
"Okay Miss Spaniel." The child thought on what he could do for her when she returned. He had been thinking about giving her something long before now anyways, something to show her just how grateful he was to be here. And Mister Six of course, he had deserved something as well. He wanted them both to be happy.
He frowned.
Just what could a kid of his means offer to them?
He didn't have much in the way of personal possessions, or skills for that matter, unless of course you counted scrounging through rubbish.
Then, it hit him.
He knew exactly what to do, it was perfect!
Silver was distracted from his thought by a whisper of misplaced air as the door to his quarters slid open, the familiar orange coat of Mr. Mccloud flashing into view as the tod walked inside. The pup studied his expression with a concerned frown, worried to see such a different aura about the usually optimistic captain. His muzzle, typically draped in a roguish smile, was now distorted by an ill-concealed grimace, a profound heaviness lingering behind his once lackadaisical gaze.
It was then that the young wolf noticed that the sounds of battle had faded, and the voices around the ship had grown silent.
"Mr. Mccloud?" He cautioned to greet the tod with a careful smile.
And just like that his expression shifted back to normal, the vulpine walking over to ruffle his mane. "Hey kid, how's it going?"
"Is it over?" Miss Spaniel spoke next, eyeing her commander warily. Silver knew that if he had noticed Mr. Mccloud's lapse, she certainly had also.
Once more that unusual sadness crept back onto his visage, though it faded quickly as he regained control. "Yeah… it's over. These things, they didn't retreat, even when the battle fell from their favor. We had to destroy every last one of them."
He forced a lukewarm grim onto his muzzle. "But we did it, Katina is back in our hands… or at least what's left of it." He remarked in a softer tone, his smile fading. "Anyways, just wanted to stop down here and let you know there is some good news. Bill made it. He's waiting to meet us down on the surface inside Fort Abel, and from what I understand, so are Six and Miyu." He chuckled. "Krystal is already on her way. So I came to ask if you wanted to head down to the surface with the rest of us."
Her eyes shifted unconsciously towards Silver, and the vulpine followed her gaze.
"Sorry kid, but you have to stay onboard. Most of the battle planetside is over, but I'd rather not put you in any unnecessary danger. Officer Kaylan has offered to keep an eye on you till we get back."
"But Mister…" Silver muttered with a soft whine as he not quite met the vulpine's eyes. "She's not very nice."
Fox openly chuckled at that. "That's just because you are quite adept at causing trouble. Don't worry kid. We'll only be down there for less than twenty-four hours. You'll hardly notice that we're gone. Besides, Peppy and Slippy will be here if you need anything."
"If you say so, Sir." Silver wasn't so sure about predominantly being left alone, but he reasoned that he'd have to get used to it eventually. After all his new family was comprised of mercenaries, and he couldn't exactly follow them when they went to work.
The vulpine leaned down, giving the young wolf a quick embrace. "It'll be alright, Silver. You just hang on tight."
After giving him her own hug, Miss Spaniel soon left with the captain, leaving him unaccompanied in his room. Seconds passed before he already felt the touch of loneliness. Thankfully, this would be the perfect time to get his present ready before they got back. Perhaps Mister Hare or Slip could even help him with his idea.
Now eager and bubbling with the beginnings of a plan, Silver quickly bolted out of his room, nearly stumbling into the tall figure waiting just outside. Startled, he glanced upwards, wilting as he recognized the elongated crocodilian maw peering at him in return.
"H-Hello Miss Kaylan." He stuttered out a greeting.
Yellow reptilian eyes studied him silently, their owner seemingly devoid of any emotion. Silver winced as he watched her scaled lips draw back into an uneasy smile. "Young Silver, I see you are already up and about."
"Y-Yes, Ma'am." He nodded joltingly. "I was just about to find Mister Hare." He offered in explanation as he twiddled with the hem of his shirt uncertainly. Whereas Mister Six was scary in a soldier's sense, Miss Kaylan was terrifying in a whole different way. She reminded him of the wild animals he often found in the alleyways of his past, their feral nature disguised under a thin veneer of calm.
"Well then," she rumbled softly, her voice echoing with a low growl. "Lead the way." The female crocodile gestured towards the hall with a thick, scaled paw, tipped with claws like daggers.
His voice failing him, Silver instead opted to do as he had been directed, hurriedly leaping into the corridor, his pace set just below a full gallop, the silent and imposing form of the reptile following in his step.
The rattle of buckles filled the transport shuttle's compartment as those present unlatched themselves from the harnesses lining the interior. Fox studied the unfamiliar assortment of individuals currently retrieving their equipment as the starship's ramp slowly descended. Of the eight people inside, only half of them were actually a part of his team.
One day he'd get used to having a security detail.
Grabbing his own gear, Fox's first insight of the true horror of what had befallen Katina arrived within his nostrils. The stagnant, cloying scent of blood and decay blew in on the wind from the open departure ramp, his throat hitching at the awful stench.
All the same he was the first one off the ship, and as his boots impacted against the uneven terrain, the vulpine's eyes widened in disbelief at his surroundings. It was beyond description, beyond anything he could have predicted.
Nothing was left standing.
What he had taken for loose gravel and rock, was in actuality the refined and powdered remnants of a shattered skyscraper, the once towering edifice of steel, nothing but a heap of broken rebar and chunks of strewn debris.
The city…
It was just… gone.
He watched in silent shock as scattered patrols, now free to leave the safety of their fortress, roved the wasteland, perhaps searching for survivors or supplies to salvage. He couldn't say for certain. He had seen some of the devastation from orbit, the Great Fox's sensors slaving themselves to whatever geographical satellites had been left in space.
But down here, with his own eyes, it was far worse than he could have imagined. And his sensor officer had told him that this kind of destruction was planetwide. Images of sprawling urban graveyards filled his mind, and the vulpine nearly dropped to his knees just attempting to grasp the concept.
And as awful as it was to consider, he could not help but think.
This could have been home.
This could have been our home.
This could have been worse.
Cornerian, the capital of civilization, was only a few days away by FTL. The Aparoids could have hit their first. Fox was sick to his stomach at the thought, and the very real possibility that it could still happen. They had overcome the Aparoid force in orbit, but that did not mean they were defeated.
Even then… the battle.
Fox had never seen anything like it, not in all his years as a mercenary. Fifty corneria navy ships had dropped out of warp at the periphery of the Katina cluster. Four hours of fierce void combat later, and twenty-nine CDF vessels had remained to drop troops and supplies.
Total Aparoid losses…
Nine... Nine of those fucking ships.
When they had arrived, they had greatly outnumbered their adversaries. Five strange, hornet-like cruisers, three bulbous destroyers in the shape of beetles, and one colossal vessel unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was massive, ten kilometers of armored chitin and cavernous launch bays, molded in the rough shape of the ancient omega symbol.
Four destroyers and a fleet carrier fell to it before it was finally brought down in a mass starfighter attack. Fox had never seen such losses before, not when facing such a numerically inferior foe.
Thousands of CDF servicemen had been killed over the course of a handful of hours.
And for what?
Fox's pained gaze dragged across the shattered, blood red horizon, to the broken cities and desolate suburbs that sprawled, empty and barren, for leagues unending. The civilian death toll had to be incalculable. Who knew how many years it would take to rebuild this world? That was not even considering the countless lives that had been ruined, that would forever be haunted by what they had witnessed here.
Families had been torn apart, entire bloodlines put to the sword of war.
"Holy… fuck."
Falco's hushed tone failed to properly articulate the depth of the avian's incredulity. He stood beside his friend, beak hanging open at the sheer insanity that lay before him. "By the gods, what the fuck happened down here?" He wondered aloud, reaching down to grab a handful of powdered city in his feathered hands.
Fox watched as the bird let it trickle out of the spaces between his fingers. "This…" He looked over, his expression, for the first time in ten years, bereft of any sarcasm or hilarity. "I've never seen anything like this."
Falco glanced over his shoulder, both him and Fox watching as Katt and Fay wandered the devastation, their expression bland and lifeless. Fay seemed worse off than the feline, understandable considering this had been her homeworld. Her family still lived her, or at least, Fox dearly hoped for his friend, that they still did.
"Captain Mccloud…:
Fox, still absorbing the wreckage of society surrounding them on every side for kilometers, was slow to drift his focus to the squad of soldiers making their way towards him. Thankful for something else to look at, the vulpine took in their mismatched, worn and battered assortment of armor, and dark expressions, realizing that they had probably been sent to lead his team back to the fort.
"Yes…" His answer was shorter and more clipped than he would have liked, but he had yet to come to grips with what he had seen, could not flaunt his jovial persona amidst such tragic desolation. This was an occasion for solemn words.
"The Lieutenant Colonel sent us to retrieve you." The Sergeant replied, confirming Fox's earlier hypothesis. "He expresses his apologies for having your ship land so far away, but what's left of the airfield has been taken up by the relief ships from the fleet."
Fox waived off his apologies, with an almost guilty affability. "Don't worry about that. I'm just glad the supplies are here. You… you guys look like you need it." He admitted with a sigh.
The dog only offered a nod to that as he gestured for him to follow their squad.
"Katt, Fay… let's go." He called out to his two wayward companions, both females hesitantly making their way back to him. The soldiers in his detail had been quiet thus far as well, perhaps similarly overwhelmed as they lingered a polite distance away to speak amongst one another in private.
The walk, unsurprisingly, was mostly silent. There wasn't much to say, no topic any of them felt worth conversing around their barren environment. Instead there was a peculiar… soberness about them. In all their days they had never quite seen something like this, not even Venom would have stooped to such levels of barbarity. What the aparoids did here was less than civilized. Six had been right about his postulation more than a month past.
The Aparoids were monsters.
Stepping over the bleached bones of an unfortunate, Fox could not help but wonder.
Was this sight something Six had faced recurrently during humanity's war with the Covenant? If so, the vulpine could not begin to imagine the horrors locked deep within the spartan's mind. Once again he was in awe of his friend's absolute resilience to atrocity.
What kind of society, what kind of existence, could force someone to accept such brutality, such unspeakable malevolence, as simply trappings of the ordinary? The vulpine felt the unusual desire to hold onto the spartan and assuage his anguishes. The very thought of Six having to endure atrocities of this scale for years, trapped in the isolation of his existence, of a person he considered closer than a brother…
Fox was shaken.
Miyu was here with Six. He had sent members of his family to fight alone and unaided in this savage hellscape. Fox had known her for years, since before his father died, back when they had been just a bunch of reckless youths, dreaming of a grand future. And he had failed to be here with them, had languished at home while they endured this darkness.
Claws dug deep into the pads of his palms.
The sooner he found his errant comrades, the better.
He looked towards the sergeant, the grim faced marine marching through a nightmarish landscape he must have become unpleasantly close to, and felt the beginnings of a question bubble forth. "Do you know someone by the name of Six?"
The dog's pace faltered for the briefest of moments as he nodded. "Yes I've had the privilege of fighting beside the spartan. He saved the lives of myself and my unit several days ago. Bravest soldier I ever met."
At that, Fox did laugh, though it was quiet and lacking most of its energy. "Yeah… that sounds like him."
"It's true then?" The lone female amidst their group asked, her eyes wide with admiration. "He really is a part of your team. He really did all of those things I've heard about."
"Depends on what you heard." Falco interjected with a muted shrug. "Then again, it's the spartan we're talking about, so yeah… probably."
"So how is our resident ass kicker?" Katt inquired with a weak smile, the feline's tail raised high to avoid tracking the reedy appendage through the dust.
At that Fox's team noticed the brief exchange of glances shared between the squad, their interchange too rapid to read.
"I haven't heard from the lieutenant since our last operation with him." The Sergeant finally supplied an answer, though Fox's attunement to the veracity of conversationalists, detected misdirection concealed within that sentence.
All the same he chose not to press the visibly haggard group of soldiers. After all, the fort was just coming in to sight, and with it, the answers he was looking for. They made their way down an artificially molded hill of stone and iron, what looked like the remnants of a hurriedly fashioned defensive fortification utilizing the abundance of materials left in the wake of destruction, which would make sense, considering most of Fort Abel's walls had long since fallen.
As he looked onto the ravaged wasteland that was Bill's military base, Fox was reminded of their mission on Zoness, that is if everything had been multiplied by a factor of ten. The devastation was absolute, hardly anything with a wall was left standing, and not a single person within eyesight was bereft from some sort of bandaging.
Once again the vulpine's mind wandered to Six's stories, of the desperation felt by mankind and the frantic struggle for survival. Was that now the fate that awaited his own people? Unlike Six's race, they had but one spartan to help them face this struggle, one soldier crafted for a role Fox was uncertain any one person could bear alone.
But then he was reminded that there was a difference there.
Six was not alone.
As long as he bore breath, as long as Starfox was a family, Six would never have to face the uncertain future without those willing to help him bear that burden.
More than before Fox felt the desire to find his brother in arms, his pace increasing as they were led through the ravaged remnants of Fort Abel. Their path was short and direct, the infantry squad pushing directly for the largest of the buildings that still stood, the worn but proud ramparts of the command building still flying CDF colors with a tattered flag.
After leaving their security detail at the doors, they were quickly led inside to the sight of organized chaos. Individuals in pristine armor and fresh clothes were blindingly out of place amidst the threadbare souls they were administering assistance and supplies to. Fleet support had arrived, and just in time by the looks of it. Most of those inside the building had come out worst during the siege, many bedridden and laid out in the improvised infirmary that stretched from the cafeteria into the nearby hallway.
Fox was unsure if that was because the onsite medical ward was already at capacity, or that it was no longer standing. Neither would have been of much comfort to him.
What did at least bring some form of smile to his previously distraught countenance, was the sight of one of his oldest friends, dirtied and bruised, but thankfully alive.
"Bill, you bastard, I knew they couldn't kill ya." Falco, as eloquent as ever, greeted the canine with an unusual warmth, though that could be easily attested to the bird's relief that there was at least something still worth smiling about amid this horrible dreamscape they had to continuously convince themselves of its dread reality.
The dog, turning away from a fleet medical officer, looked across the activity with a wary but relieved smile. "I was wondering when you guys would show up." He answered in reply, sending off the doctor with a few parting words before making his way over to them.
As soon as he was close, he embraced Fox with a tired chuckle, looking to the rest of the team with a widening grin as he pulled away. "Late to the party as usual huh?"
That drew a grimace from Fox and dredged up a resurgence of his previous sorrow at the tragedy that had befallen Katina. Deep down the vulpine knew that this would be a war that would not be forgotten, even long after it was over.
Perhaps seeing the varying looks of guilt amongst the crew, the canine spoke with a somewhat lighter tone. "That doesn't matter now though." He clapped a paw on Fox's shoulder. "You're here and we've managed to beat back these damn monsters. You've even brought Katt back into the fold it looks like." The dog confessed his surprise.
"Long time no see, Bill." The feline rejoined with a weak smile. "I just wish it had been under better circumstances."
"Don't we all Katt…" The bulldog sighed heavily, and for a moment, he looked just like the worn down greyhound they had met on Zoness. "I don't think we'd be having this conversation right now if not for the vanguard you sent over. I have no idea where you found this spartan, but I've never seen a soldier like him before. Often times it felt like the only reason we hadn't died was because he couldn't seem to realize that we could."
Fox felt a low, but amused laugh find its way out of him, despite the severity of the situation. "He has that effect on people."
"Where is he anyways? And Miyu for that matter, I thought I'd at least see that trouble maker floating around here somewhere" Fay spoke up, scanning the interior of the command building for the familiar and unforgettable outline of the giant supersoldier or his feline shadow."
For a brief, almost unnoticed moment, Bill's good humor and thin smile faded.
Fox did not like the expression that had replaced it.
"I'll…. take you to them. Dr. Kilroy was just correlating the report that the other member of your crew was also looking, so I made sure she was sent ahead."
"Have you seen her yet?" Fox asked, wondering where she had been while they were making their own way down.
"Not personally… but I could certainly tell you it wasn't for a lack of trying. From what my soldiers tell me, she's been running around the base looking for those two. And she is quite a hard female to deny; even if one does not know the answer she is looking for"
"She does tend to be a little… motivated." Fox admitted, internally wincing at the thought of the distressed vixen demanding answers from every passerby. She could be, when sufficiently inspired, a truly fearsome personality. Though she was, by default, a very demure and gentle individual, when deprived of that what she cared for, she became like a different person. And that particular creature was not one most could face and not balk at its tenacious ferocity.
"It's probably for the best if we move along then." Bill suggested as he gestured for them to follow down the hall the doctor had entered before their meeting. He did possess some inkling of that realization, so it was quite wise of him to get moving.
Now willing to argue at that, and also eager to reconcile with the scattered members of their crew, Fox and the others accompanied the canine down a series of short corridors that led them into a somewhat large expanse, what at first looked like a waiting room, lined as it was with chairs and an out of place steel table that appeared more at home back in the cafeteria they had passed previously. This deep inside the building, most of the masses had thinned, leaving only a handful of individuals inside this particular room.
At first Fox was not sure what to make of the place Bill had taken them. It was unusually empty for what he had seen so far, and the two guards at the opposite end were especially grim, their faces twisted as if they bore some terrible secret. It didn't seem like a place he thought he'd find Six or Miyu. At first he had thought they would return outside, no doubt to find the spartan stoically patrolling the battlefield. Instead here they were, shuffled into an obscure room far within the building's halls.
This… this was strange.
Though he had misgivings, Fox could only feel the reprieve of a cumbersome weight lifting off his shoulders when he noticed the familiar figure of a lynx standing by a table. His relieved grin grew when he noticed the azure vixen standing next to her.
He took a step forwards, ready to welcome the feline that had been up till now, lost in absentia. Meanwhile, his eyes sluggishly began to perceive the irregularities of the situation splayed before him. As his brain processed everything, his grin fell from his face, like meteorite crashing to the surface of this broken world.
Neither she nor Krystal was smiling. Instead there was a haunted bleakness lingering in the depth of their hollow gaze. And he noticed, his mind now flaring with activity, the white boundary of gauze visible from underneath the feline's war torn apparel, and the noticeable loss of her impetuous swagger.
But of everything he saw before him in that one instant of horrifying clarity, what struck him hardest, what would forever after visit his thoughts in the lateness of the night, was the quite sob of despair that whispered from Krystal's lips as the vixen reached out towards the iron slab, her paw trembling with unrestrained emotion.
"Your spartan… he saved the lives of countless people. I want you to know that, Fox."
Bill's somber voice cut into him, a dagger of ice cleaving into his chest as he stepped forwards to stand by the weeping vixen. That which rested upon the table, visible in clear and callous detail, was something he had never thought he would see all his life.
"We would have lost the planet weeks ago if you had not sent him."
You sent him…
The armor he had once considered invincible, a suit of plate that had shrugged off everything from razor claws to energy cannons, concentrated volley fire, and even orbital reentry… had been sundered in its entirety. If not for the shattered helmet resting at the top of the table, above what he could only assume was the ruptured husk of a breastplate, he would have been hard pressed to discern the orientation of its design amidst the layers of broken plating and copious shards of fragmented metal.
And the blood…
"On his last mission, the lieutenant intercepted multiple new aparoid types. From reports I received, they proved particularly… challenging to combat. He returned with the squad, critically wounded."
Critically wounded…
There was enough crimson fluid smeared on the crumpled bits of armor to wholly alter the previous color pallet. Blue no longer held dominance over the wreckage before his eyes. A single swipe of his paw across the smashed remnants of a vambrace, and the tacky fluid adhered easily to the pad of his thumb.
Gods… was there anything left?
"Considering his importance to the war effort and the unusual severity of his injuries, the lieutenant was taken to a separate location to recover from his wounds." The canine gestured towards the guarded doors. "Given the difficulty our medics had trying to remove his equipment; we had to ask the engineers to peel it open with power tools. It took several hours and a few team shifts, but we were able to extract him from the suit and further stabilize his condition."
Fox grasped onto that one word with fierceness born of desperation, hope, and overbearing guilt.
"Stabilize…?"
"Yes," Bill nodded hesitantly. "Noble Six survived his injuries; however he has yet to regain consciousness." The dog paused, appearing uncomfortable as he spoke next. "The spartan brought us hope after we'd started to believe there was none left. I don't know if you'll truly realize this, but everyone here would be dead if he had not sacrificed so much. I've never thought one soldier could change the course of history, not until I met the lieutenant. And what he has done here… what he has done for this world, I will never forget and neither will my troops. Many of the soldiers have come by to express their gratitude, in some form or another."
Fox looked to the chairs with humble realization.
"Though it might not matter much, he has both mine and my soldier's prayers. I'll… I'll leave you to your thoughts. If you wish to see him, he's just beyond those doors." Bill ducked his head and hurriedly departed the room, leaving a sagging pall of sobriety in his wake.
Words, thoughts, Fox lost both as he stood in the silence of their conceptions, the only sound being Krystal's muted cries as the vixen lingered upon the shattered remnants of the armor that had housed and protected her loved one, now as broken as the person it had been created to protect.
Fox looked to the doors, the stoic dispositions of the guards bearing newfound grimness as they looked on to the soul achingly passionate sobbing of the vixen overcome with emotion.
What would they find waiting for them behind those doors?
What terrible fate had befallen Noble Six?
And what were they going to do if he left them all behind?
Awareness, both when it was present, and when it lapsed, had become a source of both hope and frustration for him, the former spiraling into the latter once he was cognizant enough to realize his enduring incapacity. He knew not how long he had been reduced to such a pathetic state of existence. His sense of time blurred and distorted as he endured the endless darkness, shifting in and out of consciousness at no will of his own.
Whether it had been days, weeks, or even hours, it had, at the least, given him a substantial interval in which to think. In this undefinable interlude, he contemplated on the peculiarities of his life, from the blackest days of the spartan program, to his unusual and yet superlative stint amidst the Starfox team, what he considered to be the pinnacle of his existence, Never before had he felt more sharply defined as a human being, then after he had been stranded here in this place, with these people who did not even share in his humanity.
He learned more about himself, more about what it really meant to live, then all his years fighting to save his civilization from extinction.
His reward for this?
Those he called family were endangered, pitted against an adversary perhaps as powerful as the Covenant and considerably more mysterious on their intent. He desired to protect them, to protect this collection of alien races, his yearning to safeguard the weak solidified by the unparalleled importance they held in his eyes.
In the eyes of the universe nothing had really changed.
But to him this changed everything.
He would die for his family, for those he considered worth the belief humanity had placed upon his shoulders as the protector of their species. The intent to willingly offer his life had always been part of him, yet unlike his service to his species, it felt more… substantial. He had fought to save mankind, a principled goal that was not bereft of its fair share of nobility. But it was only here that he truly felt invested in his purpose. For all that humanity sought to accomplish with the spartan program, they had never imprinted upon their warriors with more than the need to be their shield.
They gave the spartans no more reason to fight, then that was what they had been created for.
And even now he did not disparage the program for its perhaps callous intent. There had been simply no need for this, and it was their belief that it would have been a waste of time and resources.
And yet… the spartan pondered.
He had never before fought with such adamant resolve and unbending ferocity, as he had when he heard Miyu's cry of distress. Nothing in his life had ever motivated him so swiftly, and so decisively in that moment of brief, terrifying clarity, that if he did not move that instant, she would have died.
That thought alone had pushed him past limits he did not know he could surpass.
It was his love for her that allowed him to fight with such staunch conviction and unfamiliar fierceness.
It was also - he had carefully considered - that very adoration that had reduced him to his current prostration. Had he been of callous thought and taciturn action, he was certain he could have defeated his foe with minimal loss. And yet… had he acted as he would have nearly a year ago… she would have perished.
And that reflection was entirely abhorrent.
He knew not why, and it would most likely ever be a source of mystification, but he would rather face a thousand foolish deaths then let that fate befall her or anyone else he cared for. They could live without him, and he was happy to know that. But he no longer believed he could face a future of solitude, especially one without his companions.
The spartan dwelled on his idle thoughts, speculating on what his future would now be as he gazed into a whitewashed ceiling. How long would he be trapped within the caverns of his own mind? He needed to move, to fight, anything…. but….
Whitewashed ceiling…?
He stared at the tiles above him, realizing in that moment that he was indeed staring at something. He had been so unfocused, so drawn within his musings, that he had fleetingly forgotten reality. For a moment he was unsure of he could believe this to be true. Was his mind simply playing a trick on him? He would not be surprised. Hallucinations were often the result of life-threatening trauma. But as he allowed his eyes to wander, he slowly permitted himself to consider the possibility that he was once again fully aware, and hopefully, functional.
With his vison returned to him, the spartan hesitantly attempted to move, his efforts rewarded as he sluggishly dragged his torso upwards, his body aching and his bones cracking as he moved ligaments and muscles that had been abused and unused for what gave him the impression was a long time.
Attempting to take a deep breath, he faltered as stabbing agony flared hotly within his chest. The spartan gasped and choked on his strangled grasp for air as he clutched his abdomen with a snarl of pain, his teeth bared in a grimacing rictus of extreme discomfort.
Settling instead for short, shallow pants, he cast a wary glower at the source of his discomposure. And his examination was met with a disturbing exhibition. With the vestments of his MJOLNIR removed and his physique bereft of clothing, he could now see the truth of his injuries in stark lucidity.
He could hardly see his torso through a thick weave of layered gauze, the bandaging darkened a light tinge of red that grew opaquer the further his inspection carried to the center of his chest. In fact, he could not even really consider himself naked given that nearly seventy percent of his surface area was swathed in sheets of heavy field dressings. Given the blatant evidence provided, he could safely conclude that the aparoids had been able to compromise his armor integrity.
At a glance he could tell that most of the wounds were superficial and would fade inside a few months without even leaving a scar. His enhanced healing factor ensured that only the most severe of combat wounds would ever leave a trace upon him, which included anything that cut to bone or burned his flesh. Of what he could see from portions of his skin uncovered by bandages was mostly focused around his forearms, crawling tracks leading up to his shoulders, with a somewhat less concentration on his legs. Considering the heavy plating the lesser aparoids would have had to breach just to land a successful hit against his actual flesh, he had been able to shrug off a majority of any possible injuries. What, much to his chagrin, was a small blessing he had to force himself to be appreciative of.
The spartan redirected his scrutiny away from his body to his environment, a storage room by the looks of it. A strange place to house wounded, but as he was aware of the base's limited space and resources, he could not fault them for that. He was however, curious to note that he remained the only individual inside the room. There were no doctors, nurses, or staff of any kind, not even a security detail.
The room itself was mostly empty. His bed, what he now realized to be a workshop table long enough to accommodate his size, was pushed to the wall and roughly centered. He could see some signs of habitation, a desk cluttered with sheets of paper, its chair slightly askew. By the doors he could make out another table, this one clustered with his equipment, though he had yet to see any indication to the whereabouts of his armor.
One problem at a time, soldier. He internally bereted himself as he shifted his legs off the side of his makeshift cot. First he would grab his rifle and find some clothes to make himself half descent. The room was draftier then he would have preferred. Considering the lack of resources he was not surprised to discover they had only left him a scrap of material to preserve his modesty. The half sheet of fabric that had covered his waist was not worth using now that he was mobile, and so he did not move to grab it as he shifted into action.
Placing his feet firmly on the ground he shifted his weight forwards, and nearly collapsed.
The spartan barked out a short curse.
His left leg unexpectedly buckling underneath him, he blindly flung his arm outwards to catch himself with the table he had been laying upon. But he could not control his balance or redirect the center of his gravity. The spartan winced as he felt his back smash into the cool tile of the floor beneath him, a growl of frustration soon surfacing within his tender throat as he glanced to his mutinous appendage and rubbed the soreness in his torso. His body showing its lack of approve of his recent conduct.
Mercurial irises studied the leg that had failed to respond to orders, and the soldier tentatively brushed a hand across the thick wrap of gauze around his knee, inspecting the problem as he recalled moments of the last battle he had fought, and the injury to that location he suffered at the hands of his opponent.
He remembered the sound of the bone fracturing in his leg, a distinct snap of wet bark that he had never heard originate from his own body before.
The spartan sat in stupefied silence as he stared at his immobilized limb, struggling to breathe through battered lungs.
In that moment something kindled inside him, a smoldering echo of indignation and frustration. Unlike his previous bouts of rage this was… different… alien, like nothing he had ever felt before in the way it did not truly feel his own.
His body crackled with frenetic energy.
The spartan's hands shuddered with scarcely controlled vehemence and he felt a primal proclamation of rage bellow out of his lungs as he grabbed the corner leg of the workshop table and pitched it across the room, uncaring that he had put all his strength into his exertion. The crude hospital bed shrieked through the air as it embedded itself into the far wall, plunging through several feet of stonework.
Utilizing his inexplicable fury, the spartan forced himself to stand, ignoring the outrage his leg howled at his ignorance of its suffering. Grabbing a seat, he slammed it into the ground with a growl of frustration, the metal chair splintering as it cracked tile.
Inside, his mind was a confused whirlwind of rage and sorrow.
He knew this was unlike him. Noble Six did not give into his rage or his hate… not like this. He had not indulged that part of himself in a long time, not since Cyrus IV. He had not lost control in years, burying his stigmatized emotions under countless layers of professionalism and his more powerful sense of duty.
Somehow, despite his efforts, it had escaped from containment and now he suffered for it. The events on the UNSC colony tore from the deep recesses of his mind, as if pulled forth and scrutinized by a curious spectator. The images shuffled through his thoughts even as he fought to control himself.
It was not his fault. He had not known better, he was just following orders. No… wait, it was for the betterment of humanity, the push they needed to turn on the insurrection. Even as he tried to believe that he knew it was a lie, merely echoing the hollow words of his superior officer.
The truth was damning.
An entire city, eighteen million souls lost in a fissionable conflagration of radiation and fire that split the very surface of that world. And it had served no real purpose. Tears spilt from his eyes as he roared and raged against his circumstances. This was not who he was. Six had control, he had duty. Protect but do not falter. That had been the promise he made to himself five years ago, as he watched the mushroom cloud loom into the sky, ash raining down upon his prostrated form as he cried at the death of his humanity. The day he realized that if he did not distance himself from his people he would be unable to perform his duties. Uphold the tenants of mankind, but do not succumb to them. No matter what he had endured, they had never broken him.
Now it looked as if he would break himself.
Six tried to recall the promise he had only just made to himself upon waking, to not surrender to despair, but his mind was clouded, obscured as if by some intrusive force that sought to bury him under the weight of his past sins. He thrashed and fought, writhed and contorted, snarled and growled as he struggled to restrain his rising emotions. If he did not reacquire his control someone could get hurt. And that would be unforgivable.
He was more than this… he was better than this.
With one last snarl, he slammed his fist into the counter in front of him, his clenched grip punching clean through several centimeters of polished metal as he lot out a low and drawn out howl of sorrow, begging for the pain to return, to suffer appropriately for his crimes against humanity.
So many people…
The child….
On that day he had not been what ONI promised he would be. The Covenant had excuse for their atrocious transgressions that lied within their extraterrestrial origins. No. What happened to the people of Cyrus IV… the tragedy that befell upon that world. That had been a result of the true depth of mankind's own evil. Everything Noble Six believed himself to be was false. He was little more than a mockery of his predecessors, worth less than the ash that had been underneath his feet half a decade ago.
It had been so much easier when he cared not for his soul, when his eye was only affixed upon his sense of obligation.
He was not the good man his new family thought he was.
Remember Cyrus VI.
Remember the promise you made.
Remember your duty.
The spartan extracted his hand from the crumpled table, his fist a newly bloodied mess as he studied the streams of fresh blood weeping from where his skin had torn against jagged metal. Crimson liquid dribbled down his forearm, falling from his elbow to patter wetly against the floor.
And just as quickly and suddenly as it had arrived, his rage dissipated, replaced with a soul aching hollowness, as if his emotions had bled from his body like that which seeped from his hand.
He turned his back, both figuratively and literally as he sought to put what had happened behind him. He knew not where this random bout had come from, but for now he would rather forget than attempt to discover why.
Noble Six focused on his original goals, require his weapons and find clothes. Hopefully with an objective in mind, he could put this behind him. After all, there was someone he still had to find and answered that must be unearthed. The spartan eyed the table housing his weapons, knowing he would feel better once he was armed. His sense of purpose, of duty, that should be a suitable reminder.
It was then as he looked to the table, that he noticed the doors to the room were ajar.
The spartan glanced towards the opening, bewildered that he had not heard. His anger must have blinded him. That was not right; he should not have let it get that far. But he was unused to lacking the presence of control. He would have to…
Noble Six finally noticed the woman standing in the doorway, and the spartan reeled as if struck by a physical force. Certainly such an unexpected sight proved just as disorientating as a blow to the head. He could not believe his eyes, could not allow himself to hope what he saw was true; to trust that she really was standing right there in front of him. It had seemed as if an eternity had risen and fallen since he last saw her. He knew he was not the same man he had been when he left.
Vibrant emerald eyes glistened with emotion as they gazed upon his maltreated figure, his suffering as visible on his skin as it must be to the empathic nature of her species. She trembled as she took a step forwards, a cerulean paw reaching out for him across the distance as if there was some great gulf forcing their separation.
That was when he realized.
The vixen was real. Because in his mind he could never imagine the fear he could see in her eyes as he looked upon him.
She had seen… she knew….
The spartan's borrowed strength left him and he collapsed as his leg once more lost the ability to carry his weight. And for the first time since he had awakened, he wished for a return to unconsciousness.
Fate did not abide him.
She felt a concavity in her soul that she had not felt for more than three years, an utter sense of desolation that ravaged her emotions with merciless cruelty. She did not want to believe what she was looking at, her naïve denial overpowering in its desperation as she clung to the hopeful notion that her eyes were lying. It had to be a harsh trick, or an even more vicious lie. She would have preferred that to… to this.
It struck her with a profound despair that even the events of Fortuna had failed to incite within her. In those days her affection for Noble Six had been new and experimental, but even then when she thought he had been killed, she had felt utterly devastated.
But in the end, he had lived. Surely he was not absent of injuries most would consider serious, but he had shrugged it off and had been able to walk away under his own power, if only temporarily. Not a few days later he had woken up and it appeared as if nothing had changed, except by the grace of the spirits, he shared her affection. And for a while, till she entered this room, till she was made witness to what laid before her, she had believed that there was nothing in this universe that could ever truly hurt him.
But when she looked upon the ravaged remnants of his bloodstained and broken armor, at the evident suffering he had been subjected to at the unendurable burden he remained unyielding was his alone to bear, she was ruined. Krystal bore witness to the price of his adamancy.
She traced a paw across the distorted cerinian hieroglyph etched into the fragments of a greave, the ancient rune partially stripped from the metal, awash as it was with the saccharine fluid that had been cut and beaten from his body.
The vixen wanted to cry, but she had no more tears left to shed, her muzzle already damp with grief. She was not sure how long she had stared at what remained of her paramour's armor, but she was aware of the promise she had broken. The female fox had made an oath to herself the day he had left on his mission, to be strong for both herself and him. She swore she would not cry any longer, that she would aspire to inherit the strength of her lifemate.
But this… this was far more than she could ever have prepared herself for.
Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, corded muscle underneath the furred appendages squeezing her tight with just enough strength to show how much the other person cared. A feline muzzle set gently upon her shoulder as its lips opened to emit a whisper.
"I'm so sorry Krystal. I… I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't help him when he needed me. I… I failed."
A poignant sense of raw guilt and internalized suffering slammed into her thoughts from close range as the lynx clutched her tightly and appeared moments from tinging her own eyes red. Krystal wanted to hate her. She had trusted Miyu to help Six, to be there when he needed support.
But… as she looked to the armor, she knew that there was nothing the feline could have possibly done to prevent this, and that unlike herself, the cat had been forced to bear witness, helpless to watch as he suffered. Krystal however, was unremittingly and profoundly grateful that she had been there with Six in his moments of suffering, that he had not faced this ordeal alone.
Instead the vixen placed a gentle kiss on the feline's cheek, forcing a note of sincere appreciation from her lips despite how hard it was to feel it. "Thank you, for being here with him. I know it must have not been easy." She smiled uneasily. "You did not fail, Miyu. I am sure there was nothing you could have done against this. I heard what you faced at the relay station, what it was he fought. That was something beyond your experience, beyond any of ours."
Krystal turned away from the table, forcing herself to bury the burgeoning thoughts of Six laying broken upon shattered asphalt, bled dry in a pile of monstrous corpses as he choked on his own blood. She looked to Miyu, embracing the feline passionately, simply glad that she was safe and well.
The feline winced as the vixen pressed against her tender chest, but considered a little discomfort far worth the show of affection. She glanced past the vixen to share a look with Fox, knowing that something had changed since they last saw each other.
His eyes were tired, and his shoulders slightly hunched as he gradually came to grips with the true weight of his command. Seeing them here, she knew the battle had to mostly be over by now, which meant the aparoids had been beaten back, but she wondered at the cost. From the vulpine's appearance it had to have been a price he was not ready to bear.
But when had the universe ever cared if they were ready?
She had almost cried herself as she watched Krystal weep over the armor. However unlike her dearest friend, she had already expended her own grief in private. Right now Krystal needed her to be strong, especially now that Six…
Her breath hitched for a moment as she fought to control herself.
He was alive still, and that the only thing that mattered. But until he could once again assume his duties as the vixen's pillar of strength, she would have to be the other female's confidant. Just like old times… She considered with a wry and empty smile.
It had been a few minutes, but Krystal finally felt controlled enough to pull away from the lynx, her muzzle peering over the feline's shoulders to the door guarded so zealously by sentries. The vixen was not sure why they were so resolved, but she allowed herself to believe it was because of who they were protecting.
She failed to produce a grin bereft of melancholy.
Noble Six always did have a way of making people feel important. To him, every life that was not his enemies was something he would die to defend. So she supposed it was no surprise that his particular set of ethics had instilled such devotion in the common infantry. It must have been humbling to realize a warrior of his caliber and lineage would go to such inconceivable lengths to safeguard his fellow soldiers.
"How… how is he?" She asked hesitantly, looking to the feline still comforting her with a paw on her shoulder.
"He's…" The cat began before she was quieted by an explosion of noise that silenced the entire room.
The air was torn apart by a deep echo of inarticulate rage that reverberated through the guarded door, and the walls shook soon after as something crashed loudly from within. The noise rose and fell, but not for a moment did it falter. Words could not describe the pure fury, the tangible violence…
As if a wild animal had awoken to found itself locked within a cage…
Miyu let out an exclamation of surprise as Krystal nearly dropped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. The feline caught her, but noticed the wild desperation in the vixen's eyes as she looked onwards, her ears flattened tightly to her skull.
"Such anger… such desolation..." The murmured incoherently as she studied the entrance, cautious fear and rampant concern warring across her conflicted visage.
The lynx looked back to the other members of their team, noticing the disconcerted and worried expressions as they listened to the pure violence emanating from behind the doors. Even the guards shared that look as they both took a step back from their posts, rifles unconsciously half raised.
"So much pain…." Lingering on the insight of those three words, the vixen reaffirmed her stance and lifted herself back to her feet, resolve hardening her pace and pushing her forwards as she flung open the doors. Never, in all the wonderful time she spent with Noble Six, had ever felt him so broken, so torn by unspeakable agony and unimaginable remorse.
For the first time since the met, his soul had been laid bare in its entirety for her abilities to perceive, and all she could feel was a profound sense of torment that had nearly taken her legs out from underneath her with its overwhelming power.
The vixen stepped inside, her fretful eyes roving across the bedlam sprawled about. The entire room had been upheaved, scattered chairs, some broken, some flung to the corners of the storage area, supplies littered the floor, dropped from racks that had been cast to the ground with hateful intent.
Amidst this refuse of despair, she caught sight of Noble Six, the human pronouncing his fury as he punched his fist through a metal table. His entire body resonated with impending violence and frustration. Even from this distance she could taste its intensity. The vixen struggled to restrain her own rising anger as the powerful echo colored her thoughts.
Krystal was shaken, never before having seen Six abandon composure like this. Of everyone she had ever known, he was by a large margin the most rational, the most in control of his emotions. Nothing had been able to shake him from his stoicism, not even her injuries had entirely removed him from his core desire to adhere to his rigid disposition.
But this…
She watched as the incoherent rage that had driven him to such madness, departed his body in a measured trickle that took form in a breathless sigh that stooped his shoulders with misery, his body ceasing its conflicted turmoil.
Within moments the unusual emotions she sensed from him had vanished, so suddenly that she might have never believed they were there if she had not seen it with her own eyes. She stood rooted to her spot as the spartan turned towards her. His irises, usually full of driving energy, were dull and muted as he scanned the room, the direction of his gaze traveling to the table right next to her, and then within moments, upon the vixen herself. She matched his attention with an unbalanced tenacity that for the first time since they had met, he did not reflect, feeling her eyes water as she looked upon his beaten carriage in greater detail. His poise was of a man who had only just realized that fate had bested him, and the fiery resolve within his crimson vision had been all but extinguished.
In that brief instant of recognition the world stopped moving.
Spirits… what had they done to her spartan? If the situation had not been so gravely serious, she would have undoubtedly blushed at his nude body currently laid before her in all its tarnished magnificence. Instead it allowed her to witness the extent of his injuries in flawless detail. So much of him was bound in gauze that she could have mistaken the human for an unfortunate burn victim, and if not for the red tinge on the dressings, she might have had difficulty in telling them apart from skin that was of a greater paleness then she was accustomed to seeing.
Krystal felt anger burn fervently within her, this time its origin entirely her own. This was not fair, and the vixen seethed at the sight before her, at the injustice that had been forced upon him. Why did the gods take such pleasure in tormenting Noble Six? Why was it that he endlessly put himself in harm's way to protect those weaker than himself, only to be beaten and cast down?
Why was no one else strong enough to help shoulder his burden?
When she looked upon him in this moment, to the horrible way the world treated him, all she could see was the male that slept at her side every night, the individual that had made her protection his life's duty and her happiness his greatest pleasure. She saw every shared meal, every warmhearted conversation, every time he peered out from behind the heavy curtain of his enduring facade to allow himself to be more than what he told her his people wanted him to be. Krystal could see what this universe had done to the kindest person she had ever met.
And even if the entire universe turned its back on him, if fate wished to see him condemned for his past transgressions, then she would ensure that he would not face this abuse alone. Noble Six would always and forever have her there right beside him, no matter what it was that destiny threw against them.
The vixen reached out to him, shaking as she took in just how much he was hurting right now, how he had suffered in her absence. She saw his need for solace, for someone to comfort him and tell him that he was going to be okay, that he did not have to bear the coming days locked within isolation.
The spartan collapsed. His expression reflective of someone who just didn't know what to do anymore. It was that sense of loss and defeat that finally allowed her tears to reemerge as she rushed across the room to share in his despair, random boxes and piles of debris scattering as she forged a direct path to him.
Krystal arrived just in time to slide against him, the vixen pressing her shoulders against his front to prevent him from dropping entirely to the cold and unforgiving tiles. She wrapped her arms across his chest as tightly as she could without agitating his horrific wounds, her paws scarcely able to touch as she stretched them over his prodigious musculature. His furless skin was cool and clammy to the touch, yet the pads on her fingers and palms could detect a slight feverish heat lingering just beneath the frigid surface.
She could not speak, despite the endless placations she so dearly wished to lavish upon him, her vocal cords bound and constricted by the rigid chains of her sorrow. For the first time she did not know what to say, could not produce the right words to make his hurt go away. The vixen raised her muzzle to stare into his harrowed features, great lines of tension and hardship etched deeply into his stony expression.
And for a moment, a span of time that lasted the length and breadth of a hummingbird's heartbeat, she could only remember that one event so long ago when she had first seen him awaken from his once habitual night terrors, his mind still racing with the difficult memories of his life before they had met.
Her hold around him shifted, pulling away from their tender embrace as she traced her paws up his sides, retreating from underneath his arms as she lovingly brushed her way up his torso to clasp them around his jaw, the warmth and familiarity of her touch soothing the conflict trapped inside him.
The spartan, weakened both in mind and body from his numerous trials, offered no resistance as she gently guided him to lower his head to hers, the vixen pressing their temples together as she matched his stare with ardent intimacy she hoped would remind the spartan of just how much she cared for him, her viridian irises projecting her intent where she knew words would only flounder and fail.
It was an exchange of true passion that was more powerful, more profound, than any measure and length of words could ever hope to match. She loved him, would do anything, surmount any obstacle, shoulder any burden, if it meant that he could have a chance at living the life that had been taken from him. Just as she knew he would offer all that he was and all that he would ever be, to her in service. He believed in her ideals even if he did not understand them. It was that belief in her, his faith in her, which helped the vixen even now, retain her own conviction that there was still a future, despite all that she had seen in the last few hours that spoke against it.
These were truths she knew they were both aware of, indeed that they often considered on a habitual basis. Noble Six may have been a human, and he may not possess the same empathic nature she bore as the sole inheritor of her race, but he seemed to carry an innate understanding of all sapient life that even she remained unaware of. For a man who appeared outwardly, entirely divested from society, he could be remarkably perceptive.
She would have told him in that moment, just how much his life meant to hers, how she was better for having known him, and how the universe was brighter for having created him, if not for the understanding that he was intrinsically aware of how she perceived him.
It was only her intent to serve in this moment as a reminder.
And she could see, from the animate light that glimmered behind his rubicund eyes and the strength that returned to him as he grabbed her tight and pressed her softly to his chest, that she had succeeded.
If the Aparoids had hoped to break Noble Six, to shatter his resolve and tear him down from the inside, their efforts were futile.
A thin smile turned the otherwise dour tilt to her muzzle. The man who she loved had been hurt by their new foes, yet she took solace in her understanding of his character. And that he would not let anything dissuade him from his promises and obligations.
Unlike the Aparoids, she knew the kind of man Noble Six could be when that which he loved was threatened. Not only was he the hero she believed in, but the champion of their cause. He could motivate and inspire others to reach for their aspirations, to bolster the weak against the strong.
She knew, even in that moment as he held onto her, broken and confused, that he would save them all. That he would simply because it was the right thing to do was just another reason that she loved him.
But now… in this moment, it was time to take him home.